


Small Mercies

by TheUnburied



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: 31 Days of Apex (Apex Legends), Birthday, Birthday Presents, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnburied/pseuds/TheUnburied
Summary: Elliott is having the worst birthday, but it'sfine-- it's not like hewantedto have a good time, anyway.[ Day 3 - Mercy - 31 Days of Apex ]
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Small Mercies

“Heeeey Mom, it’s me again, you know, ya’ boy…” The smile lingered weakly on his face, like it was only there for show. He tucked the phone against his ear and began picking through the scarves in his closet, “Sorry for calling again, but I forgot to tell you, it’s my birthday!” He broke into a short laugh and finally settled on a scarf with a checkered pattern -- a new one with the tags still attached, “I didn’t know if you remembered -- don’t worry, I get it! You’ve got a lot going on. It’s hard work, being the most beautiful woman in the world...”

“But you know, I haven’t heard from you in a-- in a bit, so I thought I’d check in! ...Again!” He stepped into the bathroom and fired finger guns at his reflection, accompanying his words with gestures she wouldn’t see, “Just call me back any time! I mean, any time after tonight. I’m working an extra shift at the Paradise -- you know how it is, Julia’s dog got cancer, _again_ , so she needed the night off. And I thought, hey, what better way to celebrate your birthday than to spend it with your favorite people! Wraith’s gonna be there tonight. So’s that talking robot -- even though _no one_ invited him. Man, I swear, he just knows...” He trailed off again into a beat of awkward silence,

“Anyway, call me back! Or don’t! You know, it’s up to you!” And, after a falter, the humor faded from his voice, “...Bye Mom, love you.” He hung up and set the phone on the counter, and his reflection frowned back at him. He’d already gotten a few little gifts -- Wraith had picked out the scarf he was wearing (pretty sweet), Path had weaved him an eerily realistic picture of himself using extra fur he’d collected from petting random dogs throughout the year (what the Hell?), and even Kim had left him a boxed set of animated shows from Angel City in an effort to teach him some “real culture” (jerk). He knew he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, or a gift anything in the _anywhere_ , but there was only one thing he wanted this year, and honestly, none of them could give it to him.

But it wasn’t like he really cared! He had friends here, that was all he needed, right? Right.

“...Last try.” he finally decided, plucking up the phone again to give her another call. He put the phone on speaker as her answering machine picked up, and began to spray something foamy into his hands,

“Heeeey Mom!” He pulled his hands through a mess of curls. The room smelled like hair gel, “I know, I know, I _just_ called you, but I just wanted to _completely_ make sure you’re doing ok. Do you need anything? Can I come by?” He hesitated, like he expected her to respond, “...Y-You know, I’m gonna come by, maybe tomorrow, and hey, if you haven’t gotten these messages yet, it’ll be a surprise! I-I mean, who doesn’t love surprises? I know I--” A new voice cut through his words, and for a moment, his heart fluttered with the thought that she'd finally answered,

“The voicemail box you are trying to reach is full.” The cold and clinical woman told him, cutting a clean hole through that hope,

_“Really?”_

“Please try again later.”

“Oh come _on!_ What year is it again?” Fingers still sticky with gel, he reached out to paw at the phone, and in an awkward attempt to end the call without making a mess, he managed to catch its corner and flick it off the counter. A couple of colorful words tumbled from his lips as he fruitlessly snatched at the air and watched it tumble to the ground. When he plucked it up again, the screen was discolored with large cracks and broken pixels.

He stared back up at his reflection. The man looking back seemed older, tired. He set the broken phone safely on the counter, washed his hands, and splashed a bit of water on his face, trying to scrub away the growing fatigue, 

“It’s ok.” Elliott murmured, bouncing on the balls of his feet in a vain attempt to keep himself peppy, “I’ll just buy a new one. I can do that, that’s a thing I can do.” He could feel the exhaustion and frustration whittling away at his constitution, and he still had a full shift to get through. If he turned and went back to bed, he wondered if anybody would notice. Mirage was quick to dash that thought from his mind -- of _course_ someone would notice. People were expecting him to be there. He couldn’t do whatever he wanted, not when people were waiting.

So he took a deep breath, put on his most prizewinning smile, and shoved his wallet and broken phone in his back pockets. He checked twice, three times, to make sure he had everything he needed, because it’d be pretty embarrassing if he ended up at work unprepared (not like he’d ever done that before). And with a newfound resolve he mustered from the cracks in his psyche, he heartily pulled the door open, and immediately tripped over something on the floor.

He watched in horror as a plate of cupcakes went sprawling across the hallway, smearing chocolate icing in its wake. Half a dozen pastries left out for him were ruined by his own stupid fucking feet, and the determination he’d managed to find quickly faded into an irresolute acceptance. So _this_ was going to be the status quo. His birthday, of all days, would be the day he didn’t catch a break. Fucking great. Awesome. Love it, keep it up.

And as he frustratedly stooped down to collect the remains, ready to flick them out the window in a bubbling rage, the anger withered away again. He noticed one of the cupcakes had landed safely on a handwritten note, tucked loosely into the crinkled paper,

> _‘Mirage,  
>  I got your favorite flavor, shock-a-lot! Get it??  
> Happy birthday! I'll see you tonight!  
> Love, Natalie’_   
> 

And that was enough for the fury to ebb. He collected most of the mess and dumped it just inside his apartment. Then he cradled the last cupcake between two wane fingers like it was a coveted jewel, and numbly started down the hallway.

“Thanks, Wattson.” For the cupcake, but more importantly, for her small mercies when he needed them the most.


End file.
